


The Fifth Horseperson

by The_Bentley, The_Ineffable_Zephyr



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 2020, Ace-Friendly Aziraphale and Crowley, Action/Adventure, Adam Young Still Has Powers (Good Omens), Antichrist Adam Young (Good Omens), Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale rambles, Aziraphale's Flaming Sword (Good Omens), CW: Coronavirus, CW: Excessive Tea Drinking, CW: Pandemic, Canon Compliant, Caves, Famine's scales, Gen, Good Omens Events, Horsepersons of the apocalypse, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Jasmine Cottage (Good Omens), Landslide, Lower Tadfield (Good Omens), POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Crowley (Good Omens), Pollution's Crown, Post-Canon, Road Trips, Running Away, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), They/Them pronouns for Pestilence, Wales, ao3feed-ineffablehusbandz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26709226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Bentley/pseuds/The_Bentley, https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Ineffable_Zephyr/pseuds/The_Ineffable_Zephyr
Summary: Adam and The Them are learning about growing up during the pandemic and decide to take things into their own hands. Aziraphale and Crowley receive disturbingly familiar packages from The International Express Man. Do they need to become godfathers again?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 45
Collections: GO-Events POV Pairs Works





	1. Aziraphale

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Based on the prompt "A delivery from the International Express Man." Canon-compliant. Takes place early summer 2020, so about 9 months post-notpocalypse. (Ignores the Lockdown video because we want them to be living together already. Please enjoy the domesticity.) CW: Pandemic, COVID-19, Coronavirus. Lots of banter to keep the tone light, and of course a happy ending, but be aware the story deals with both the social and psychological reality of the pandemic.
> 
> This was co-written with The_Bentley for the GO Events POV Pairs event, which was such a blast to participate in. The whole piece is finished and new chapters will post weekly on Tuesdays through October and November 2020.
> 
> Thanks to ngk-they-said for being such a good beta and for the original prompt about Adam hitting puberty and the return of the “Godfathers.” Big thanks to mickey-rc/@one-with-with-the-floor for the original brainstorming and outlining session - I truly hope we did justice to your ideas. And all the kudos to The-Bentley for stepping up last minute to pinch hit for Crowley’s POV, being a delight to work with, and even providing in-house Britpicking.
> 
> The title is a fond reference to Terry Pratchett, who has a novel “The Fifth Elephant.”

In a vine-covered cottage in a little village in Oxfordshire, Aziraphale and Crowley sat in a rustic kitchen filled with drying herbs and golden evening sunlight. There was a lovely floral scent coming in that Aziraphale couldn’t quite place. 

Aziraphale’s stomach rumbled. He thought he could really go for a scone to settle the fluttering nerves in his belly.

“All right,” Anathema said and let the tea kettle clunk down on the table, effectively startling Aziraphale out of his reverie. “Enough pleasantries. You’ve been to Wales and back in a remarkably short amount of time today. There is a...sword on my table. And I’ve been worried sick all day. Would you care to tell me what happened?”

“Ah, sorry to get a bit lost in my head,” Aziraphale said. “It has been a rather long day and it feels so nice to sit. Thank you for providing us with tea. And they say Americans aren’t considerate.” He rubbed his hands together and said, “So, where to begin?”

Crowley waved a hand at Aziraphale to give him the floor.

Anathema leaned against the sink, hand on her hip. 

“I’m not sure what Crowley has already told you, so I’d better start at the beginning, which would be… at our house, this morning. Goodness, did all that really happen today?”

“I can’t believe it either,” said Crowley, who had drunken no tea and so his voice was extra dry. 

“Well, I had got up early, as I usually do. And, well, Crowley was still asleep. Don’t argue, dear, I’m told it’s quite normal for humans to have different sleep schedules. I thought, ‘let him have a bit of a lie-in and I’ll make breakfast.’ So I puttered about the kitchen and the light was just beautiful at that early time. I could practically see all the little thyme and basil shoots along the kitchen window just reaching for that warmth — Crowley takes such good care of them, you know.”

“Get on with it, angel,” Crowley groaned (still, Aziraphale heard the attempt at softening his voice and appreciated it). “But I reserve the right to butt in if you start losing the, you know, the string of it.”

“The thread?” Anathema supplied.

“Yeah, that thing. You know, going off in the weeds.”

“Well, all right,” Aziraphale conceded. “So, I brought Crowley his toast and coffee in bed. I knew he would grumble but I also knew he would grumble more without coffee.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially to their host, “You should know he looked very, er, _demonic_ with his bed head.” 

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley with a soft smile, which turned into a chuckle as Crowley seemed to be suffering from a feeling beyond his power to express in words. He opened his mouth, moved his jaw back and forth, then shut it.

Satisfied that he wouldn’t be interrupted again for another few moments, Aziraphale continued. “We usually take a turn about the garden once Crowley gets up. I love to see the bees so busy in the flowers and all the green life. Today Crowley said he had a lot of work to do, so I stayed inside, where I myself have a frightful amount of work ahead of me to arrange all my books. It was Crowley’s idea to turn the attic into a library and it’s quite a beautiful space. There’s the light coming in through the skylight and little reading nooks in the dormers. I can look out the window and peek at the progress of the garden. It’s a bit wild at the moment and it makes me think about how we met.”

“Really, angel? What does that have to do with what happened today?”

“Quite a lot, actually.” He sighed dramatically. “But why don’t you tell the story if you’re so impatient.”


	2. Crowley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The_Ineffable_Zephyr deserves kudos for getting this fic outlined and off the ground. I just stepped in to fill in the blanks with some words and had a wonderful time doing it with her. ❤ I hope you all enjoy her work. 
> 
> -Bentley

Crowley could see this was going to take all night if he allowed Aziraphale to keep waxing poetic about the wonderful life they had forged together since they moved into the cottage.

“But why don’t you tell the story if you’re so impatient.”

“Ok, I will because we should stick to the point, or we’re going to be here for a week.” He reached over the table to squeeze Aziraphale’s hand in apology. The squeeze he received in return told him he was forgiven. “I’ll tell you how I came by these.”

He indicated the scales sitting with the sword in the centre of the table. Glancing to his right at Aziraphale, who nodded at him, he looked at Anathema and continued. “I was working outside in the flowerbeds. . .”

* * *

It was a perfect day to restore the overgrown gardens of the cottage while Aziraphale puttered around inside cataloguing his books. Crowley stood up, brushing the dirt from his hand as he looked at the newly weeded rose garden. He was satisfied with the actual manual labour he did to rid the bed of every unwanted weed, leaving behind only roses. The bushes weren’t doing as well as they should be this time of year, and he suspected the soil wasn’t quite loamy enough for a rose’s liking. That could be corrected with some organic debris that filled the flowerbeds in front of the cottage. It seemed every fallen leaf from last autumn was in those beds.

Setting his rake in his wheelbarrow, he pushed it to the front garden where those untamed beds awaited him. He parked it beside the flagstone path running up to the cottage. On the front door was a small slip of paper that fluttered in the breeze. Crowley walked up to the door, yanking it off to read it. A package was waiting for him at the local Post Office. He figured the custom masks Aziraphale nagged him into ordering online had arrived, but it was odd the Royal Mail hadn’t left the package on the doorstep like they usually did.

Opening the door, he looked into the living room, but Aziraphale wasn’t there. That meant he was most likely up in the attic that he was turning into a library for his collection. Climbing the stairs two at a time, Crowley found the door open and Aziraphale, amidst empty shelves, was pulling books out of boxes to place in the spaces awaiting them.

“Angel, I’m heading into town. I think our masks have arrived, but they didn’t deliver them to the cottage.” He flashed the notice left on the door. “Do you need anything?”

“We could use some milk and eggs. Oh, and get some sugar. And tea. I’m running low on my breakfast blend. I put disposable masks in the car. Wear one around the humans, please.”

“We’re not going to get anyone ill or get sick ourselves, you know.”

“Even we need to follow the rules, my dear.” Aziraphale set aside another empty box by the door before giving Crowley a goodbye kiss. “Go there and come straight back, all right? We’re supposed to be staying at home unless it’s essential to be out and about.”

Leave it to his angel to still want to do everything by the book.

“Of course. I’ll see you in a bit.”

He bounded back down the stairs, out the door and to the Bentley which was parked in the driveway. Hopping in, he started it up and sped off to the Post Office. Ten minutes later he was parking in front of it on a street that was eerily empty. The only other vehicle around was a delivery lorry with “International Express” painted on the sides. Crowley saw it and froze.

Wasn’t that the lorry that picked up the Horseperson’s symbols?

Even the delivery man was the same – a fellow of average height with blue eyes and a long face. He sought out Crowley as he stood beside the Bentley. The surprised demon hadn’t moved from his spot since noticing the lorry and its driver. Crowley hoped the longer hair, different sunglasses and more casual clothing meant for working in a garden kept him from being recognized.

“Anthony Crowley?”

“Yeah?” _Damn._

“This is for you.” With a smile that was discernable despite his mask, the man handed him a medium-sized box. “Oh, and this, also. I had to get your attention somehow.” A smaller soft package was thrust at him.

“Uh, thanks.” He shunted the packages onto the Bentley’s bonnet as a clipboard was handed to him. Scribbling down his name on the sheet of paper on it, he returned it.

“It was nice seeing you again.” The man touched his cap with another smile before returning to his lorry.

“Sure. You, too. . .” said Crowley to his retreating back, thinking that was odd.

Throwing the packages into the passenger’s seat, he headed to the supermarket to buy Aziraphale’s requested supplies. But as he hurried through the store to grab a jug of milk, carton of eggs and other groceries, the unexpected package was on his mind. Sprinting to the front to pay for his purchases, he used a discreet miracle to speed the line along. Finally, he was setting the bag with the groceries on the floor of the Bentley’s passenger seat and picking up the mysterious package.

 _Who the heaven is sending me something?_ he thought as he nervously opened it up.

The cardboard shipping box contained a lacquered wooden box that struck fear in Crowley’s heart as he pulled it out. Wasn’t this the box that contained Famine’s scales? He stopped breathing as he opened the box to view them lying inside on a cushion of red velvet. Slamming it shut, he put the box back on the passenger seat and sped home.

“Aziraphale!” he called as he entered the kitchen, carrying both packages and the grocery bag. He had only remembered to breathe again when he needed to use his voice.

Shoving the groceries, bag and all, in the fridge, he searched the cottage for Aziraphale, finding him in the living room standing over the couch and the long cardboard box sitting on it. On top of the box lay Aziraphale’s old sword in its sheath.

Crowley stopped short as his partner looked up at him, the expression on Aziraphale’s face was one of panic. His blue eyes flicked to the wooden box Crowley carried. Tossing the package containing their custom masks on the nearby chair, Crowley opened it with shaking hands to show him the scales.

He heard Aziraphale’s breath catch in his throat before the angel spoke. “But I thought we were done with all this!”

Crowley caught him up in his arms, placing a kiss on top of his blond curls. What were they going to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is completed and will update weekly on Tuesdays through October and November.


	3. Aziraphale

Back in Anathema’s kitchen, Crowley paused his story, uncrossed his legs, and set his tea cup gently on the saucer. Or, at least, he seemed to be making an attempt to do that. Instead, Aziraphale watched the love of his immortal life tangle his limbs with the table, bumping it so badly that his teacup skidded away and dumped its contents. 

“Blast it--son of a--ngggghh!” 

“Oh dear!” Anathema jumped up and got a towel. 

“Sorry, about that. This seems to happen sometimes when we’re out and about. Snake, you know.” Aziraphale waved his hand in Crowley’s direction. 

Anathema stared at him. 

Once they were all settled and dry, Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand and said, “It really was quite concerning to receive those packages. I didn’t know what to think when that nice gentleman showed up on our doorstep. You see, when we first met him it was after we left the airbase on that day last year… the one Crowley likes to call the ‘apocawasn’t.’” Aziraphale wiggled in his seat and made bunny ears with his first two fingers to emphasize the word.

“Also partial to ‘armaggedidn’t’...or ‘notpocalypse,’” Crowley added.

“Yes, the possibilities are endless. Thank you, dear. So, Lesley, the delivery man, handed me this long box. He said how pleasant it was to be making so many local deliveries. I suppose they usually send him all over the globe. Can you imagine? He had just been up at our local post office and who did he meet there but Crowley? At the time, I thought, ‘what a coincidence.’ Indeed, the whole thing seemed like nothing more than a great coincidence. He complimented The Bentley—and you know she always likes that— then gave his regrets that he could not stay for tea—or for cocoa—and left.”

* * *

As Aziraphale carried the long package inside, he found he was surprisingly glad to have seen this gangly, earnest man again.

He wouldn’t admit it, but he had rather been hoping the delivery man would forget to collect his old sword when he had found them on the bench that day last year. (It had already been taken out of his Celestial Wages, after all.) 

Carefully undoing the wrapping, Aziraphale at last held the intricate silver sheath in his hands. A glowing started in his chest. He thought for a moment his wings might release. 

His sword. Returned to him after all these years. Holding it made him feel quite giddy. He slid it from the sheath and relished in the satisfying ring of metal on metal, the weight of it balanced in his hand.

The Almighty never had asked after it again, and it had travelled so far with the humans. They were ingenious at using tools to hunt and build shelters and defend themselves. Of course, that’s where some new trouble began—with protecting people and property, until it scaled up to war. 

Oh. War.

She had brought the sword to the airbase. Although, in the end, the humans rather turned it against the Horsepersons. It seemed fitting to Aziraphale that the humans made the best use of the sword in a pivotal moment. 

Was it possible that Heaven and Hell were planning something again? Surely there would have been other signs? Perhaps it was a clerical error in his favour.

“Bureaucracy as big as heaven, there’s bound to be errors,” Crowley agreed when he got home and Aziraphale showed him the sword. 

They both knew it was a false consolation. There were the scales, for starters.

For a long while, an angel and a demon stood in the sunlight of a cottage in the South Downs, embracing like their lives depended on it. 

Ringing pierced the silence.

“Angel, aren’t you going to get that?” Crowley murmured as he held Aziraphale close to him. It was more like squeezing, but Aziraphale didn’t mind.

He felt safe for the moment, breathing in Crowley’s scent, feeling the familiar texture of the jacket against his cheek. “Don’t be silly, dear, no one calls us. Or maybe people call you on your newfangled device. But not me.”

“What about your old rotary phone?”

“The what?”

“The one from the bookshop?” 

“Oh, Heavens!” At last, Aziraphale pulled away and rushed up the stairs. 

“How did you get this number?” He huffed into the receiver. “The bookshop is permanently closed, and we’re not buying right now.”

“Uh, hello? Is this, um, Mr. Fell?” The woman pronounced his name hesitantly and something about her American accent clicked into place for Aziraphale.

“Oh! Anathema isn’t it?” Aziraphale called far louder than necessary into the phone. He heard Crowley start to climb the stairs two at a time. “So sorry, dear. Normally we’d be delighted to hear from you, but it seems we’re quite in the middle of something.” 

Crowley slunk over to Aziraphale’s side. He mouthed ‘Book girl?’ 

Aziraphale nodded. 

“Yes! Exactly. That’s why I’ve called,” Anathema said. 

All business: Aziraphale liked that. “Tell me what’s happening.”

“It’s The Them. They’ve gone missing.” 

Crowley, his ear pressed close to the receiver, twisted his face in confusion. 

“The what, dear?”

“Oh, sorry. Adam and his friends. Pepper, Brian, and Wensleydale. Dog, too. They left a day ago and no one’s seen them since. Adam’s parents called me, frantic. I’ve been doing everything in my powers to locate them but I can’t seem to get a read. This happened before, when Adam was the Antichrist. He had some power to block suspicion.”

“Like ducks!” Crowley shouted. 

Aziraphale glared at him.

“What was that? Anyway, I couldn’t think what to do. But you two showed up last time everything was ending, so I thought you… might be able to help?”

“Right. Of course. I’m not surprised to hear Adam might be involved.” Aziraphale looked at Crowley, who nodded. “We’ll be to Tadfield very shortly.” 

Aziraphale rang off and turned to face Crowley. They looked at each other for a long moment before gathering the sword and scales and heading for the Bentley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please subscribe to get notified of updates every Tuesday through October and November.


	4. Crowley

“Ok, so you were delivered the Horseperson’s items. Then I called and asked you to come down.” Anathema had laid the wet towel on the edge of the sink and returned to sit down since it looked like this was going to take some time. 

Crowley nodded. “Yes. We got going right after your phone call even though someone was more worried about forgetting things.”

He glared in Aziraphale’s direction. The angel pretended not to notice.

* * *

“I forgot our masks,” Aziraphale blurted out. 

“Angel, we’re driving to see a witch who knows what we are and that we aren’t going to give her a disease.”

“What about the Youngs? We’re going to have to talk to them, too. They don’t know we can’t make them ill.”

“Nobody’s watching for frivolous miracles any more. Conjure one up if it makes you feel any better.” 

Fussy angel. But Crowley knew why he was fixating on masks; it was because he’d rather not think about the problem at hand. 

“I’ll visit the Youngs. I think that situation needs a delicate hand, my dear.”

“That’s fine. I’ll handle the witch.”

They were silent, both engrossed in their own thoughts until Crowley made it to the highway, so he could pay better attention to the subject at hand. His glance kept flicking to the rearview mirror where he could catch a glimpse of the wooden box and sheathed sword lying stacked on the backseat. He tried to use the mirror as intended—to keep an eye on traffic behind him—but was failing.

“So, concentrate here. You’re the one who’s good at prophecies. We need you to start thinking about why this may be, based on what little information we have so far.”

“But all we know is that we received the flaming sword and the scales, and the children are missing.”

Aziraphale was starting to fidget, twining his fingers around each other. Crowley reached over to grab his hand and stop him before he started getting on Crowley’s nerves. Everything was tense enough without him blowing up at Aziraphale over something minor. Aziraphale instead grasped the sides of his seat as Crowley took a curve at dangerous speeds.

“The flaming sword was originally mine and I think if someone wanted to send a message, they would logically send me that. I would like to believe they would be less cryptic and send me an actual message rather than an object. It leaves me to puzzle things out, but the Ineffable Plan does work in mysterious. . .”

Crowley about banged his head on the steering wheel in frustration. “Sword’s yours. You received it. Good. Keep up the brainstorming, angel. Why send me the scales?”

“Because you were the Serpent? Scales. . . snake? You did slither into the Garden to tempt the humans, then met me. We’re supposed to solve this together? Does it seem we’re always the ones to solve things together? Been like that throughout history, hasn’t it? And now we’re back to doing exactly that.”

Crowley snorted and thought his partner was reaching on that one. Snake scales were nothing like the measuring scales Famine used. He tried not to bite his tongue with his sharp teeth. Instead, he grinned and nodded to encourage Aziraphale to continue. It was better than bickering with him over his need to say everything in the most long-winded means possible. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. Scales like that are for measuring and sometimes represent balance. Think on that. Anything in prophecy about that? Maybe the uneven distribution of resources?”

“What does the uneven distribution of resources have to do with you? It’s not like you’re hoarding anything other than fine art.”

Crowley accelerated around a slow-moving lorry. “I don’t know, angel. I was thinking in terms of Famine who is most definitely the uneven distribution of resources. The well-off throw out food they buy while poor children starve. But I’m not out to starve children, so what is my role?”

“Justice?”

“ _Justice_?”

“Are you supposed to judge someone or something? Does it represent your trial in Hell?”

“I hope I’m not required to play judge. And what would that kangaroo court of a trial have to do with anything? Since you attended it, I only have second-hand knowledge. No offence, but someone telling you isn’t the same as being there.”

Aziraphale stiffened, his stance telling Crowley he was a little offended. They drove on in silence for a few miles, only Mozart playing on the radio.

* * *

“Now, you must understand Heaven and Hell were most upset when they discovered we weren’t exactly doing what we were told when it came to the Apocalypse,” interrupted Aziraphale as means of explanation to Anathema. “We thwarted their attempts to execute us by swapping bodies, but still it was. . .”

“Time is of the essence, angel. We need to get back to the story.”

“It is important she understands all that’s going on here, Crowley.”

“I think you just gave a good enough explanation.”

“Guys!” exclaimed Anathema. “Er, angel and, uh, demon? Just calm down, you two. I think I know what’s going on. Do you care to continue?”

* * *

“Where’s the crown?” Aziraphale asked out of the blue, hands clinging to the sides of his seat as Crowley took a curve so fast the Bentley tipped up onto two wheels.

“How the heaven should I know?”

“It’s a rhetorical question, my dear, but an important one. Is this third person supposed to be helping us? Did they kidnap the children? Who is the Horseperson who gets the crown, anyway?”

“Pollution.”

“Oh, yes. That’s correct. Why a crown?”

“They inherited it from Pestilence, who retired when humans discovered antibiotics. Pestilence got it from Conquest when he left the act. He and War did not get along at all. I stopped having drinks with either of them whenever we ran into each other because I got tired of hearing the complaints. Crowns make sense for conquests.”

“True.”

There was another pause while many trees flew by outside the Bentley’s side windows. Crowley broke the silence this time.

“You practically invited the delivery guy in for tea. I’m surprised you didn’t ask him who sent the packages.” 

“His job is to deliver them, not to be nosy about where they came from. I do not believe he’s going to know a thing about the sender. Well, other than any information on the package, anyway, and there was none.”

“For Hell’s sake, he’s delivering the Horsepersons’ symbols that alert them to the end of the world. You’d think he’d ask a few questions!”

“He’s being discreet, which is much appreciated in that industry. Would you like someone rifling through your packages or asking unneeded questions?” Aziraphale replied primly, much to Crowley’s annoyance.

Crowley swerved in a half-hearted attempt to hit a rabbit crossing the road. He wouldn’t have actually run it over, but Aziraphale was getting on his nerves, so he was now giving in to his base demonic instincts to rub the angel the wrong way once or twice. Aziraphale shot him a disapproving glare, hands clinging to the sides of his seat for the second time this trip. Crowley sneered at him.

“Fine. Ok. And now what?”

The song on the stereo which started out as Beethoven subtly morphed into a guitar riff from Queen before becoming a full-fledged version of “We Will Rock You.” Crowley twisted the radio’s knob to off, not appreciating the music right now.

 _Watch yourself. This isn’t the Apocalypse,_ he scolded the car as if it could hear his thoughts. _Or would you rather be flaming?_

The radio crackled with static for a moment before returning to a silent state. The scenery flew by as they ate up the miles between London and Tadfield.

“I don’t need commentary from you, too,” he groused.

“What?” asked Aziraphale, looking rather confused.

“Nothing. Sometimes I swear this car’s alive.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s confused look told Crowley the angel didn’t know what to say about that. “Well, I believe that’s the least of our worries right now.”

“Agreed.”

They fell into silence again.

Roaring down the road at speeds unlikely in vintage cars not driven by demons, the Bentley carried them off to their next mystery adventure. Crowley hoped they were able to solve this new puzzle thrust upon them before they ended up facing serious consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please subscribe for weekly updates through November.


	5. Aziraphale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, sorry this is a day late. Look for chapter six to be up next Tuesday.

“Thankfully we made it in one piece to Tadfield. And—by some miracle—” Aziraphale said pointedly “—we managed not to run over any of your neighbours in spite of Crowley driving somewhat faster than necessary.”

“Hey,” Crowley said. “I didn’t hear you complaining about my speed when we thought the world was ending.”

Aziraphale took a sip of his tea, ignoring his husband. The tea had gone cold, so he spared a miracle to warm it again (after all, it had been a very long day). “Anyway, where were we?”

“Then you went to see Adam’s parents while Crowley came here?” Anathema prompted.

“Ah, yes…” 

* * *

As the Bentley rumbled up the small residential lane, the Youngs waved from their front porch, evidently trying to smile and look cheery behind their cloth masks. 

“Hello,” called Dierdre Young as Crowley stopped the car. 

Even on that first word of greeting, Aziraphale heard how her voice caught like a hem on a thorn. Human emotions could be tricky, but her distress was obvious. Arthur Young held his hand protectively to the small of his wife’s back. He looked tired. 

Aziraphale sighed.

“Go get ‘em, angel.”

“Have fun with Anathema, dear.”

Aziraphale pecked Crowley on the cheek, donned his mask, and strode up the front walk with as much angelic calm as he could muster, considering what a flustering day it had been already. 

“Mrs. Young, Mr. Young. I don’t suppose you remember me. I’m Aziraphale.”

“Thank you for coming,” said Arthur. “We called that young woman at Jasmine Cottage when we didn’t know what to do.”

The Youngs led him around the house to the back garden.

“It’s so nice to see you again but I’m terribly sorry to hear it’s because your son is, well, I don’t want to assume missing, but… ” Aziraphale tugged at his waistcoat, at a loss for how to go on. 

He had been studying human behaviour his entire time on earth, but now that he had to devote significantly less attention to Heaven’s demands, he found he could focus more on this interest (when he wasn’t focused on a certain red-haired demon interest, of course). There really were so many ways humans behaved that made little sense to him—or other humans, he gathered—and much of it seemed to be caused by pain. He wanted to find out if there was a better way to alleviate it than booming “Be not afraid” (which didn’t work half the time anyway, no matter what the motivational memos from Heaven said). True, he had been granted an ethereal power to calm the disturbed, but he had also lately been reading about trauma psychology and a field of body awareness called somatics. 

The humans before him looked stricken, and he wished to offer them comfort. With that thought, his heavenly emanation spread beyond his corporation. The light, which was too subtle for human perception, slipped over and through the worried parents so that they had the sensation of being pleasantly warm all over, as though dipping into a bath.

“What a lovely garden you have,” Aziraphale said cheerily before they could start to question the odd feeling. When the Youngs looked about them to acknowledge the shrubs and marigolds of the garden, Aziraphale snapped a finger behind his back. By the time they turned around, he was presenting them with a lovely vintage red. 

Deirdre let out a surprised, “Oh!” and Arthur raised his eyebrows in approval. 

“I wanted to bring something as a thank you for having us over last Christmas,” Aziraphale pressed on, trying to ride the pleasantries long enough to lift their spirits. “That was such a lovely evening. I recall the cookies and cocoa were quite scrumptious.” 

* * *

“Really, angel? Magic tricks to comfort the disturbed?” Crowley interjected.

“I don’t see you turning up your nose at a glass of wine when you’re having a bad day.” Aziraphale sniffed and returned to the story.

* * *

Aziraphale watched the Youngs inhale and exhale—a visible sign of relaxation, even behind the masks—and knew the calming effect had taken hold. That meant he could move on to the issue at hand. “Very different times than now, I suppose.”

“Yes, very different,” Deirdre agreed, but with notably less tremor in her voice. 

Aziraphale sat in a garden chair and the Youngs followed. “Now, tell me what happened.”

Dierdre looked at Arthur, who rubbed his forehead. 

“Our son was out back—right around here—with his friends. And I overheard them talking. They call themselves ‘The Them’...” Arthur trailed off at the awkward string of pronouns. “Well, I only heard a little bit and it sounded like they were having a row, which isn’t too uncommon. But lately, I dunno, things have been different.”

“Adam hasn’t been quite himself,” Deirdre added. 

“Oh? How so?” Aziraphale asked.

“He’s been a bit more touchy lately. Sort of angry about everything? Maybe it’s just that he’s almost a teenager, but it’s happening a bit sooner than we thought.”

“I heard Adam shouting,” Arthur added, “about the world being in a terrible state. His friends would say things to comfort him like ‘the environment is so much cleaner these days’ and ‘people are coming together to help one another.’ It didn’t seem to matter to Adam, though.”

“I see.” Aziraphale’s tone may have been bland but his brain was starting to turn with ideas. He wasn’t sure if the parents were fully aware of their son’s lineage. But neither was he certain what fallout there had been from Adam resetting reality last year.

“I think he’s feeling a lot of pressure lately. What with school moving to online, and he couldn’t see his friends for a while during lockdown. Thought he’d be elated when they could finally get back together, but I only heard them talking about the state of the world. They’re just kids! I know it’s been tough, but he’s taking it really hard,” said Deirdre. “I told Arthur we should really try to talk with him. Not that he likes to share much with us, but clearly something was off. And then,” her eyes slid off into the distance behind Aziraphale, “he was gone.”

“He didn’t say anything before he left? Or the other children?”

“He left a note saying he had to ‘Take care of unfinished business,’” Arthur scoffed. “I say the boy’s been watching too many Bond films. Do you have any idea what that means?”

“I agree that there are considerably more moving pictures about that James Bond fellow than anyone can be expected to keep track of. I will think on what that note could mean. I might have an idea, but it’s not very firm. Rest assured that Crowley and I will do everything we can to find Adam and his friends and to keep them safe.”

Aziraphale stood up and adjusted his waistcoat. He reached out a hand towards Arthur, immediately withdrew it, and fiddled with his pocket watch instead. “Thank you so much for your time,” he said. “Now I suggest you go inside, put on a nice record, and have a glass of wine. That always fixes me up.” 

The Youngs thanked him profusely. They felt his suggestion seep in as though it were their deepest desire, one which they couldn’t imagine fighting. 

“I’ll see myself out, then.” 

Aziraphale walked around to the front gate. He heard the purr of the Bentley just around the bend. He breathed a sigh of relief at not having to bother with the mobile phone Crowley had given him.

* * *

“So,” Aziraphale continued his story over their second pot of tea, “I told the Youngs I would ring them if I found out anything about their son. They do have the most peculiar number, as I recall from the first time I found them. Clever Agnes helped me figure out it was triple six and so I just added the Tadfield area code—”

“—Yes, the sign of the beast! So that’s what that prophecy was about?” Anathema said, some of her previous zealous wonder colouring her voice. 

“Indeed. And I may have _suggested_ to the Youngs that they enjoy a relaxing evening to take their mind off of things.” 

“You can be very persuasive,” Crowley said, golden eyes shining over his glasses.

“Thank you, dear.” Aziraphale gave a little wiggle in his seat and locked eyes with Crowley (he missed Anathema’s eye roll). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!


	6. Crowley

Anathema looked from one man-shaped being to the other, wondering when they were going to get on with the story. They were ignoring her in favour of talking among themselves. Patience running low, she bit her tongue and concentrated on not making a sharp comment.

“Can you tell me about what happened here?” asked Aziraphale. “We were so busy, I didn’t get that part of the story.” 

Crowley and Anathema looked at each other. She nodded, hiding her annoyance.

“Go ahead.” Her voice was full of false sweetness.

Crowley made an uncommitted noise, but took up the narrative again to tell Aziraphale about what happened while he was speaking with the Youngs. 

* * *

Anathema was waiting in the cottage when he arrived and beckoned for him to come inside. Crowley remembered this place well even though he had only parked out front briefly at night to drop off the young witch and her repaired bike to the garden. It was a quiet enough area of town nobody was going to notice if she wasn’t strictly following lockdown by inviting Crowley in. He strode after her into the kitchen where they sat down at a table cluttered with mysterious instruments that did god-knows-what. Crowley sure didn’t know nor did he care. He had no interest in that mystic crap some humans seemed to believe in.

“You don’t believe in witches, do you?” she asked as she brought a jug of some kind of fruit drink and two glasses to the table.

“Why would I? Humans were not gifted with powers. The ones who are gifted with true prophecy get shut down by one side or the other as soon as they’re discovered. They’re anomalies that aren’t meant to exist. Good old Agnes somehow slipped through the cracks. I imagine that was part of the Plan.”

“Lemonade?”

“Why not?” He shrugged. Crowley had no idea what that yellow sugar water was, but it wasn’t the lemonade he was used to, which was carbonated. Must have been some kind of American version. No matter. He could change it into whatever he wished it to be.

She poured him a glass then sat down to pour herself one. “Well, I am a witch.”

_Of course you are_ , he thought. Out loud, he said, “No. You’re someone who’s very observant of the world around her. More so than most humans. Anyone can do it because it doesn’t involve special powers. It only takes the ability to perceive what most are unwilling to see. I, on the other hand, have true powers.”

She crossed her arms as she gave him a sceptical look. She was always no-nonsense and it showed in her appearance. Her hair was up in a tight bun, her clothes were rather severe and those round glasses weren’t doing her any favours in Crowley’s opinion. And he knew thanks to her ability to perceive, she was used to getting what she wanted, but he was not going to play her games. With an insolent gesture, he turned that American idea of lemonade into a mug of coffee, and she raised an eyebrow.

“So, you’re not human?”

“Not in the slightest.” He gave a cheeky grin. _Have fun with that._

“Sure. Fine. But I want my glass back after you’ve drank that.” She cleared her throat. “Moving on. . . Wait, no. . . I’m not moving on. Events from the airbase are fuzzy, but I remember your. . . friend?”

“Angel.”

“Angel. . .” She sounded somewhat amused at that. “What is his name again?”

“Aziraphale,” replied Crowley, wishing she’d get to the point as they didn’t have all day here.

“He said something about you being a wily old serpent, and he was on apple tree duty?”

“You’re smart, book girl. Figure it out. I’m not going over my life story. We don’t have time to discuss the last six thousand or so years. What do you know?”

“My name is Anathema, not ‘Book Girl.” She paused as if something hit her. “That was real? The Garden?”

“Yes. And my name’s Crowley. Can we move on now we’ve had proper introductions? If you want the story, ask Aziraphale sometime when we’re not dealing with runaway kids and Horseperson symbols. Make sure you set aside a few hours. He tends to ramble.”

* * *

“Oh, really?” Aziraphale put on his most offended pout.

Crowley looked at his extremely expensive watch that ran on magic and spite. “How long have we been here tonight, angel?”

Aziraphale looked out the window at the fading evening light. He sighed, “All right, yes. Do continue.”

Anathema laughed for the first time all evening.

* * *

The Anathema of several hours ago was not as cheerful. She shot Crowley a displeased look, but proceeded to pull a rolled-up sheet that lay on the table near her. Moving aside the teapot and her teacup, she unrolled it, turning it so that it faced Crowley. It was a topographical map of the Tadfield area with spirals drawn on it in red ink overlaid by spirals in green ink. There were also squiggly lines in purple ink. Leaning over it, he looked it over, confused, as Anathema set heavy objects on the corners to keep it flat.

“What am I staring at?”

“The leylines of Tadfield. The red ones are from when Adam came into his power and started warping them towards himself. The purple lines are where they normally flow and where they returned to after the world didn’t end. I’ve felt disturbances in them lately and have been retracing them whenever I could. They’re spiralling towards two places. Here, a bit east of Tadfield and here, about one-hundred and fifty miles to the west. It’s like two different powers are fighting for control of them. I believe something is here that’s very powerful and it has reawakened Adam’s powers. That spot east of Tadfield is about where the kids’ little hideout is.”

Crowley ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Well, that’s great.”

“So why bring you two into this? My premonition told me I needed to find you, but not _why_.” She sounded accusatory as if an angel and demon had no business getting involved in this. “You two didn’t do a damn thing to help out at the airfield. How are you going to help out these kids? They could be in real danger.”

Crowley let out a string of offended consonants before he was able to speak. “We didn’t help out? Well, let’s see here. . . I gave humanity knowledge, Aziraphale gave it fire. I think those are rather important. They kind of lead to free will, you know. Mixing up the babies was a cock-up. But if I hadn’t had lost the Antichrist, Adam would have grown up under Heaven and Hell’s influence instead of human influence. If it weren’t for that free will you gained when exiled from the Garden, Adam wouldn’t have had a choice in the matter. He would have followed his programming. If Agnes’ book hadn't ended up in Aziraphale’s hands, we wouldn’t have found Adam, or been there to give him the advice he needed to send his Father Who Is No Longer in Heaven back to Hell. But you don’t know about that part because I stopped time so we could accomplish that. Now, please. Tell me again we weren’t important?”

_You don’t know the Ineffable blasted Plan like I do._

He was in her face now, nose-to-nose with her. It was not a position she wanted to be in. She backed away, clearing her throat with an uncomfortable noise. Crowley sunk back into his chair to glower at her through his dark glasses. 

“Someone wanted us here and summoned us with these. Obviously we must be equipped to get them out of whatever they’ve got themselves into.”

The scales appeared on the table, startling Anathema. She opened the lacquered box and looked at them nestled inside then glanced up.

“What are they? They look familiar but I can’t place them.”

“Famine’s measuring scales. Aziraphale received War’s sword, which was his in Eden. Now, where are those leylines converging again?”

He pulled out his phone to snap photos of the map, showing they converged on an area in Wales, but it was a large area and Crowley had no idea how they were going to narrow it down. 

“Is the world going to end?”

“Not yet. The Horsepersons haven’t been summoned, but I have a feeling we have to stop this before it escalates into that. My mobile number is in yours now. Call me if you get any more information. I know where we need to go.”

Without further ado, he walked out, Anathema on his heels. 

“What are you going to do? This seems delicate and those kids’ well-being is at stake here. They are still so young, and they have families who want them back safe and sound.”

“Convince Adam to not use his powers for evil and stop whatever that other force is if it’s up to no good.” He spread his hands wide in a dramatic shrug. “How, I don’t know.”

He climbed into the Bentley and took off. Anathema stood on the doorstep, the worry visible on her face as she watched him drive off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Updates every Tuesday.


	7. The Pursuit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently this work updates Wednesdays because I can't convince my brain to remember to post on Tuesdays. Please enjoy this short but eventful chapter.
> 
> Hope everyone in the US is taking good care of themselves during this tumultuous week. Reading fic is a great distraction. :)

“You must have been sick with worry, dear,” Aziraphale told Anathema. “Crowley didn’t offer you many assurances.”

“Yeah well, all worked out, didn’t it?” Crowley yawned and stretched. 

“Yes, and I’ve been hoping you would explain to me exactly how it worked out,” Anathema said, frustration coursing under precise enunciation. 

“Well, they say that you can’t rush a good story,” Aziraphale mused.

“Yeah, but you can bore a person to death. There’s a whole department for that in Hell.” Crowley held up his hand to forestall Aziraphale, “Don’t try to explain it to book girl. We’re moving on as requested. When we left your place, we went to Hogback Wood.”

* * *

After stopping by the Youngs to pick up Aziraphale, Crowley first made a stop at Hogback Wood. Parking as close to the edge of the wood as a vintage Bentley would allow, meaning they would be required to hoof it quite a distance to The Them’s hideout. Aziraphale was eyeing the uneven, leaf-littered floor of the forest dubiously. Crowley stared at him, not believing his hesitation. It was a minor hike in the woods, not a perilous climbing of a mountain.

“What?” he questioned, as if he didn’t know.

Aziraphale sighed, a pained look crossing his face. “Walking in the wood? In these shoes?”

“Miracle up some hiking boots if that makes it easier. C’mon.”

Crowley strode confidently forward, using the photo of the map to guide him to the hideout. Aziraphale puffed behind him, carefully picking his way through such obstacles as leaf-covered dips and fallen logs. Crowley wisely kept his thoughts to himself.

“I’m so soft,” he heard Aziraphale mutter from a metre or two behind him.

* * *

“Excuse me,” exclaimed Aziraphale. “I said nothing of the sorts!”

Crowley snorted with contained laughter. “Ok, angel. You didn’t mention a word about being soft. Or complain the entire time.”

* * *

Back in Hogback Wood, Crowley forged ahead, taking to the terrain much easier than Aziraphale. Reaching the hideout first, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle with the throbbing power gathered here. His very skin wanted to crawl away back to the safety of the Bentley. 

“Oh, lord,” said Aziraphale as he approached, but Crowley didn’t know if he was still complaining about the trek he just endured or the immense gathering of dangerous power here.

Crowley winced as his body attempted to grown fangs and claws in case it needed to defend itself. He could sense the uncomfortable lengthening of both. Still, he ignored the discomfort to poke around the place, picking up a wooden sword and cardboard crown. Aziraphale pointed to the home-made scales hanging from a branch.

“What did thessse kidsss know?” Crowley had developed a slight hiss in his fight to keep from developing snake-like fangs. 

“I don’t know. But I don’t like it,” replied Aziraphale who was twitching his shoulders like he was fighting the urge to unfurl his wings.

Crowley used a miracle to take them back to the Bentley. Starting the car and putting it into gear, he took off hell-bent-for-leather towards the other source of leyline power—Wales.

* * *

“It was clear the children were no longer in the area,” Aziraphale picked up the thread. “We didn’t know how far they could have got with Adam’s powers having returned. It turns out, while we raced along by automobile, Adam and his friends had boarded…” here he paused for dramatic effect, “a train.”

* * *

“Are you sure this is a good idea? We’re not meant to be travelling away from where we live,” Wensleydale said, glancing around nervously. “And you’re definitely not supposed to bring dogs on the train.”

The four friends stood on a platform of London’s Paddington Station. The bus from Tadfield had been nearly empty but there was more foot traffic here. 

“Oh, shush,” Pepper hissed under her breath. Her approach was obscurity through certainty. She imitated the other commuters: standing tall and looking straight ahead.

“It’ll be all right,” Adam said simply. “No one will notice us.” 

His confidence made it easy for The Them to believe him, even if they didn’t fully understand. 

And he was right. They boarded the train, handed over their tickets, and the conductor barely glanced at them. Dog wedged his narrow body into the seat beside Adam, rested his head on Adam’s leg, and promptly fell asleep.

Once the train picked up speed, Adam grew restless. He jammed his headphones on his head, playing his music loud enough for other passengers to hear the tinny leak of angry beats. After a few minutes, he ripped off the headphones and stared out the window in silence.

“Are you hearing voices again?” Pepper asked with as much gentleness as she could muster.

“Yeah, but it’s not like before. They’re not telling me to do anything. Just sort of grumbling.”

“Grumbling?” Brian asked around a mouthful of snacks he had packed for the trip.

“Complaining, maybe? I don’t know, it’s not very clear.”

“Are they upset you didn’t do what they wanted? You know, the last time?” asked Wensleydale.

“I don’t think so. It’s actually just one voice. Sounds a bit different than before.”

* * *

After Aziraphale had been plastered to his seatback for hours by the Bentley’s roaring speed, they finally pulled off at a small waystation outside of Swansea.

Aziraphale perused the convenience store for a little snack to keep himself going. Near the cash register, he spotted a map of the area. He traced his finger along the sun-faded page as though his touch would make it reveal the whereabouts of the antichrist child. They had so little to go on and his confidence was flagging.

The door jangled with bells as Crowley shoved through. “Angel! Good news. Anathema has just called. The boyfriend—what’s his name? Toad?—” 

“Newt, I believe.”

“That’s the one! He saw a newspaper article—something about ‘spooky’ happenings at a cave near here.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale perked up, delighted at the lead. “Excuse me, sir,” he said to the cashier, “are there any caves around here?”


	8. Aziraphale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The big encounter! Thanks for following along and we hope you enjoy.

“Finally, the cave!” Anathema said, clearly on her last straw with how long this story was taking. “What did you find in there?”

* * *

The opening to Cathole Cave yawned before them. 

“Feel spooky to you, dear?” Aziraphale asked.

“Oh yeah, big spooky.” Crowley shuddered.

They heard voices shouting inside and a dog’s bark. Hearing this, Aziraphale made haste inside, sparing a quick miracle to set his sword ablaze. Crowley ran behind him, scales clanking as he held them aloft like a talisman. 

The flaming sword cast wild light and shadows against the limestone ceiling and walls as they ran. Their feet slapped wetly on the ground. The tunnel narrowed and grew darker. They rounded a bend and it abruptly became brighter. They skidded to a halt at the edge of a large opening, like a room. After the darkness of the tunnel, they squinted into the bright light of several torches, which stood blazing around the edges of the cavern.

Six figures turned to look at Aziraphale and Crowley. The four children waved, the dog wagged his tail, and the other, who was lounging above them all on a ledge like a dais, rolled their eyes. 

Aziraphale sagged and leaned against a damp wall, partly from relief and largely from overexertion. Crowley clutched a stitch in his side and swore fluently between panting breaths.

“Well, well, well,” drawled the figure on the makeshift throne. They wore long white robes that were once elegant but had grown shabby with age. On their head, the tarnished crown. “What an honour it is,” they let sarcasm drip with each word. “Even emissaries of Heaven and Hell have been sent to find poor little old me. Humanity may have forgotten about me for a while, but you’d think the head offices would have a longer memory. Tsk, tsk.”

“We’re not with Heaven and Hell any more!” Aziraphale stood up straighter and grasped Crowley’s hand. “We’re on our own side.”

“How nice for you,” said Pestilence. “You bungle the Apocalypse and they fire you. But sure, you can tell everyone you left. Anywho,” they turned back to Adam and his friends, “what were we talking about?”

Crowley pulled forward as though he would take on the Horseperson himself for such a sleight. “So you’ve come out of retirement, have you?” Crowley snarled as Aziraphale tugged him back. “Thought the world needed your help? Well, it doesn't!”

“That’s right,” shouted Brian. “Now you’re going to clean up this mess you created!”

“Yeah,” said Pepper. “It’s your responsibility.”

“And you know what Uncle Ben says,” added Wensleydale, “‘With great power comes great—’” 

“Yes, yes, all right. I get it,” Pestilence sighed extravagantly, raising their hands in mock defeat. “So, what? You come here with your occult powers, your little gang, and whoever these jokers are,” they waved a lazy hand toward Aziraphale and Crowley, bejewelled rings flashing in the light, “and you want what? To duel? To make up for not destroying me like the others?” 

Their voice dropped a steely octave. “Well, I’ll tell you what: I would have ridden to that airbase. I would have swooped in faster than the winter chill under the door. You would have all been sorry.” Firelight glinted off sickening green eyes. “But I wasn’t invited. Pollution said that they had it all covered—that their way was more ‘modern’ and it would make the people _and_ the earth sick. Well, look what a bang-up job they’ve done,” Pestilence sneered. “Should have left it to me.”

“So you did all this? To get revenge? How old _are_ you?” Adam taunted.

“How old are _you_?” Pestilence taunted back in a fine imitation of a child bully. “Please. When I heard that Pollution and Famine and even War herself had been sent away by mere children,” they scoffed, “well, I had to see for myself. Retirement grew a little boring. I travelled some. Saw the sights. Saw how things,” here they lowered their voice in disgust, “were getting better in the world.”

“Yeah, they were!” Pepper shouted.

“I chose not to destroy the world for a reason,” Adam said in a voice that was soft but easily heard throughout the cavern. “Because I believe people can make it better. What’s so bad about that?” 

“Okay, fine, so I got a little itchy. Maybe regressed into some old patterns.”

“Actually, this isn’t a game,” said Wensleydale, “this is our world. And we want to grow up in it.”

“Yeah, well, you’re all going to die someday.”

“Oi! Not us,” said Crowley.

“And, actually, I’m not quite sure about Adam,” Aziraphale pondered out loud. 

“Oh my stars, what do I have to do to make you leave me in peace?” roared Pestilence.

“We’re not leaving until you fix this,” Adam said with his unearthly calm.

“That’s not what I was made for. Also, that would be no fun. Relax; they’re going to come up with a vaccine for it. I know your lives are pitifully short, but you’ll just have to wait. And then your demon friend here can start another anti-vaxxer campaign and people will be up in arms, and everyone will be happy… for a time.”

“Hey!” Crowley pulled away from Aziraphale. “That wasn’t me. See these scales? I got them for a reason. ‘Cause I play fair. Not trying to kill any kids.”

“Oh ho ho! That got your goat.”

Crowley’s groan turned into a snarl. But then Aziraphale was in front of him, sword flaming between his demon and Pestilence. “Please,” Aziraphale mouthed at Crowley.

“But all those people don’t have to get sick and die,” Brian said. “That’s all your fault.”

“Actually,” Pestilence drawled, “no.”

A resounding silence followed. Everyone turned to stare at Pestilence, who sighed.

“I may possess incredible powers and have spent centuries becoming exceedingly efficient at causing illness, but all of this? Was not me.” 

“Huh?”

“What!”

“What?”

“Is there an echo in here? I said it wasn’t me. It was all the humans. You’re very clever, you know. It’s incredibly annoying. Now run along and find someone else to bother with your do-gooder mission.” With their words, the temperature in the room dropped considerably. The torchlight flickered as though in a wind.

“You’re not getting off so easy,” Pepper growled.

“Pepper…” Wensleydale warned.

Adam glanced at Aziraphale, who nodded, and then squared himself to face Pestilence. “I came here to finish this.”

“I’m sure you did.” Pestilence hefted themselves off their limestone throne and sauntered down towards The Them. “It’s time for you to go. I promise, you do not want to cross me.” 

A rumbling deep in the bedrock started below their feet. It grew into a chatter of loose rocks on the surface. As Pestilence advanced toward them, a crack in the stone ceiling widened and raced overhead, opening into a yawning blackness. 

“Kids! Run!” Crowley yelled over the cacophony.

“This way!” Aziraphale motioned with the sword, back the way they’d come. 

They raced just ahead of a landslide. It sealed off the cavern where they had been, but they didn’t stop running until they reached daylight outside. 

* * *

Later, in the Bentley, which expanded to take them all back to Tadfield at a considerably faster rate than the train, Aziraphale turned around to offer biscuits to the children in the backseat. They chewed in thoughtful silence for several minutes. 

Aziraphale pressed a hand to his chest and felt his own thumping heart. He took a deep breath and let calm spill out of him to wash over everyone in the car. 

“Excuse me, Mr. Aziraphale, Mr. Crowley, but how did you find us?” asked Wensleydale.

“They’re good at doing that,” said Adam.

“Yes, well, we had some help from Anathema,” Aziraphale said.

“She’s rather good at finding us, too,” said Pepper. “Witch and all.”

“What did you mean about Adam maybe not dying?” asked Brian. 

“Oh, yes. Hmmm,” Aziraphale looked at Crowley for support on this difficult topic, but Crowley just shrugged. “We thought perhaps he had become fully human after last summer, but it seems he was able to summon us here.” 

“I did?” Adam asked. 

“We got these.” Crowley waved the scales. Aziraphale showed him the now-extinguished sword. “As far as I know, only the—only _you_ —can cause these objects to be dispersed. It looks like you still have powers, my boy. And I’m not sure what that means for your future.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Adam said. “I still want to spend my time with The Them and try to make the world a little better.”

“Do you think we did that today?” Pepper asked.

Aziraphale caught Crowley’s eye and gave him a sad little smile. 

“I’m not sure,” Crowley said.

“But you sure tried,” added Aziraphale. 

They were all quiet for a while as they wound through the Welsh countryside. 

“Ah, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, “better ring the Youngs and let them know everyone is safe.” 

With some effort, Crowley extracted the mobile from his skinny jeans’ pocket. “What's the number?” 

“Crowley dear, how many times have I told you? The humans made it illegal to talk on the telephone while you’re steering an automobile.”

“Right.” Crowley tossed the phone over his shoulder into the backseat. “Kid! Call up your mum and dad.”


	9. Crowley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter and next week will be the epilogue. Thanks for coming along with us for the ride. Hope you and yours are staying safe.

Adam looked down at the box containing the scales he was holding now in his lap, then at the sword Aziraphale kept near him in the front seat. He sighed as Crowley watched him in the rearview mirror. Poor kid. It seemed he was in for a lifetime of saving the world, and they were possibly in for a lifetime of having to help him when it happened.

Now he was feeling irritated. He was retired and so was Aziraphale. Why would it be up to them to come running every time humanity was at risk?

_That’s a stupid question to ask yourself. We’ll come running because we did the same to save the Earth we love, and we’ll keep doing so it stays safe._

He turned next to Aziraphale who sat there looking tired. Reaching out to him, he smiled as his partner turned to look at him.

“You doing alright, angel?” 

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes. It just feels. . . well, anticlimactic is all. Pestilence was able to simply disappear. The problem wasn’t solved.”

“I don’t think it was meant to _be_ solved. It’s like the airfield all over again. Last year, Adam and his friends stopped the world from ending. For now. Like I said, that wasn’t the Big One.”

“That’s not very reassuring.”

Crowley understood what Aziraphale was feeling right now. The angel wanted the airfield to have been the Big One. He wanted closure with Pestilence. But he wasn’t going to get what he wanted. The world would end one day and disease was always going to be part of life on Earth. 

“No, but isn’t that the point? You don’t know the future. As you always say, it’s ineffable.”

“I know,” said Aziraphale in a voice that sounded sorrowful. “But I believe I’ve started to see past that and want a world with some certainty now that I’m on my own side.”

Crowley took his hand in his. “ _Our_ side, angel. And you have certainty. You have me and you always will.”

The smile Aziraphale graced him with nearly melted Crowley’s demonic heart. 

* * *

They dropped The Them off at the Young’s because Crowley flatly stated he was not going to individually deposit each kid at their respective homes and be forced to endure any conversation with parents. Aziraphale inquired as to why.

“They don’t know us from your average weirdo. I don’t want to have to deal with hysterical parents wondering why two men in a vintage Bentley are suddenly dropping off their children. I really do hate doing memory modifications. Leaves me with a headache.”

“Fair enough.”

They watched the children run up the pathway to the front door where Mr. and Mrs. Young awaited them, excited to see the children safe once again.

“Thank you!” called Mrs. Young.

“It was no trouble!” Aziraphale replied, waving out the car window. 

“That’s right, no trouble at all,” muttered Crowley as he headed back to Jasmine Cottage where Anathema waited for them. 

Pulling up, they let themselves in the gate to the garden and knocked on the door. Anathema answered, the look on her face saying she was anxious to hear their side of the story. Entering, they sat at the kitchen table to tell their tale from the delivery of the Horseperson’s symbols to the encounter at the cave. Finally, after a day of sitting and worrying about the Them, she was caught up, even if a bit confused about the entity in the cave.

“What was it?” she asked. “Why did Adam take off like that with his friends?”

“Pestilence,” replied Crowley. “You know, that thing running around giving everyone the newest version of the plague.”

Aziraphale elbowed him, earning him a slight sneer in return.

“But wasn’t Pestilence at the airfield?”

“No, that was Pollution,” said Aziraphale.

“Pollution?”

“Yeah, the Horsepersons seem to have an issue with keeping a fourth member. They’re on their third now. Research it sometime. Interesting stuff. I don’t have time to explain it.” Crowley wasn’t in the mood to give a lesson on Revelations, Chapter Six.

“I could tell you all about it.” Aziraphale volunteered. “The Horsepersons started out as figments of the human imagination but soon. . .”

“Another time, angel, all right?” Crowley all but glared at him. “Stick with the story.”

He didn’t want to be here all night. There was a couch back at the cottage that was just begging him to come home and lie on it while finding something on Netflix to watch with Aziraphale.

“What about the leylines? Do you think Pestilence will bend the lines to themselves to gather power again? I assume Adam will put them back where they belong.” Anathema turned worried eyes towards the map that was still on the table. 

“Isn’t that up to you to keep track of?” asked Crowley. “Honest opinion? I believe Pestilence is gone for now. They’ll return. You can’t permanently get rid of the Horsepersons. They exist in the imagination of humankind. They’ll all eventually pop back up.”

“Even though humanity has pretty much moved past the need for myths and legends?”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley with a glance that told him he was at a loss about what to say about that. Crowley reached over and patted his knee in loving support. He really didn’t know what to say about it, either. Here was this young woman sitting across from them doubting the need for the fantastic while she herself claimed she was a witch. 

Crowley sighed, knowing he was not going to make her understand. “There is always going to be a need for fantasy.”

“And fantasy can sometimes feed on the collective imagination to create entities like the Horsepersons,” added Aziraphale as he sipped his tea.

Anathema stood to take her empty teacup to the sink. “That’s not very reassuring.”

“Life is like that,” said Aziraphale primly. “We cannot gain reassurance from life itself. We gain it from the people we choose to have in our lives who will support us through its events.” The look he gave Crowley was one of pure love. “I’ve just learned that myself. Are you still with that young man, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Crowley groaned and put his head in his hands in disbelief that Aziraphale was going to start off on another tangent. 

_No, let’s not get into talk about human couples again_ , he thought. 

He had had to listen to Aziraphale speak excitedly about how Madam Tracy and Sergeant Shadwell would make such a lovely couple on the bus ride home from the failed Apocalypse. Crowley really didn’t care what they did. Individual humans didn’t much register with him despite liking humanity on a whole.

“Yes I am. He’s not here because he’s back in Dorking with his mother. She had hip replacement surgery today.”

“Well, I hope she gets better soon, my dear girl. And tell him his tip from the newspaper was very helpful today.” 

“Yes, that. Let’s go, angel.” Crowley stood up and headed out the door with a wave towards Anathema. “Keep an eye on those kids, book girl. Two if you can spare them.”

Aziraphale looked puzzled as he climbed into the passenger seat with his brow furrowed. “People can replace their body parts?”

Crowley shrugged as he started the Bentley. “I’m not surprised by anything they can do any more. Let’s go home.”


	10. Epilogue - Aziraphale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long adventure, Aziraphale and Crowley return to their South Downs cottage.

When they pulled up to their cottage and Crowley turned off the engine, the sounds of the crickets rose to fill the silence with their nighttime symphony. 

“I’m going to check on the garden,” Crowley said when they got out of the Bentley. 

“Oh. Very good. Would you like some company?”

“Nah. ‘S all right. Save me a cup of tea?”

“Of course.” Aziraphale knew he liked to go alone. 

He went inside and turned on the lamps. By the time he had finished steeping the tea, Crowley entered the kitchen through the mud room and kicked off his boots. He still looked a little haunted, so Aziraphale said nothing, just handed him a mug of peppermint (the only tea Crowley could stand), and pressed their shoulders together.

The doorbell rang with the sound of angelic chimes. Crowley cringed and muttered something that sounded like “every time.”

“Oh, that’ll be Lesley.” Aziraphale grabbed his mask and opened the door for the tall khaki-clad man. “Hello! Fancy seeing you again. I suppose you’ve had quite the interesting day as well.”

“I have. Your place was a piece of cake to find, but I had the damnedest time locating my other delivery. And forget about the pickup.”

“You were in Wales, too?”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“Better not ask. But I will say, I won’t make such a fuss giving back the sword this time.” Aziraphale handed over the packages with care. “All that adventuring today was quite enough to last me a decade at least.”

The International Express Man laughed. His simple joy was infectious, and Aziraphale felt it bubbling inside him. 

“Got to get back to my sedentary life, you know: reading by the fireplace, nice cup of cocoa…”

“That sounds nice,” Lesley agreed. “Me and the wife like to have a cup of something and sit on our back porch. Lovely this time of year. That is, when I’m not out on a job.”

“Oh, well you must get back home, then.”

“Right. Sign here, please.”

“Thank you. It’s been very pleasant to chat with you, but you won’t mind me saying I hope we won’t be seeing you again for a long while.” 

Lesley returned to his vehicle and found it was true: he didn’t mind at all. He drove home to Maude.

Aziraphale closed the door. Crowley leaned against the frame and took Aziraphale into his arms. They breathed together.

“At least it wasn’t my old boss who showed up.”

“You think the Prince of Darkness would ring the doorbell?”

“Nah, back in the cave. When the whole place started doing that earthquake thing, I thought for sure this time we were actually toast.”

“You led us to safety, my dear.” Aziraphale stepped back and took Crowley’s hand. He walked them over to the couch. “And it seems we’re all safe for now. Well, relatively speaking. There is still a global pandemic. But maybe the kids learned something that will help them as they grow up.”

“Whazzat?”

“I’m not sure. Growing up is such a curious thing. We arrived here fully formed.”

“But we’ve changed a bit in the last 6000 years, right?” Crowley said as he stretched and sprawled out against the arm of the couch. “Must have done.”

Aziraphale sagged into Crowley’s embrace. “True, true,” he muttered. “I may be the guardian of humanity, but mostly I find myself to be quite… tired.” 

“It’s all right, angel. You happen to be in the arms of an expert on sleep. Or if that’s not your thing, just lounging for a while will do.”

“Yes, it certainly will.”

Crowley turned on the TV with a snap. “What’ll it be, angel?”

“Great British Bake Off, I think,” said Aziraphale with a wiggle, managing to get himself snugged even more tightly up against Crowley. 

**An End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> You can find The_Ineffable_Zephyr on Tumblr @tickety-boo-af


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